The Illusionist
by Sentomegami
Summary: Itachi knows what they want: they want a perfect soldier; they want a perfect son. From a very early age, he learns his best defense is to create the illusion he is just that. The hardest part about maintaining the illusion is staying human.
1. Gifted

**The Illusionist**

0

_Gifted_

It rained the evening after the end of Third Shinobi World War.

Itachi remembers the rain very clearly. There had been many bodies still lying around, in the varying stages of decomposition, and the rain had smelt like death, picking up and mixing the rot with the mud, the winds carrying the stench.

He's not sure why he went out. His mother had been distracted by Sasuke, trying to keep Sasuke safe from the diseases the wind could spread, so Itachi had been largely alone in the empty house, waiting for his father to return home. Maybe he had wanted to find his father; maybe he'd wanted his family together; or, maybe there had been some sort of cosmic force that drove him. Either way, he'd left the house with only his sandals and day clothes, and he had wandered in the rain until he was past the destroyed walls, into the darkness and the carnage.

He's not sure how far he wandered nor how long he stood out there, gazing out in the dim light of the overcast skies, damp and chilled to the bone. The rain had stopped at some point, but Itachi hadn't thought to move, standing in the wreakage of trees, rotting bodies, and pummeled stone. His father had found him like that, sometime afterwards. It's one of the handful of times Itachi can remember seeing his father frightened, and perhaps the only time in front of people not of the immediate family.

"_Itachi_. My boy. Itachi -"

His father had scooped him up, hugged him close. Itachi had wanted to hug him back, but everything felt numb and disconnected, his father's living, breathing body too stark a contrast to the world around them to be real. Nothing made sense, and, yet, everything did. People had done this; people had died; people had survived. Itachi isn't sure what he said when his father started to put him down, but he can't remember a time before or after when Fugaku hugged him so tightly.

"It will be alright," Fugaku tells him as he carries Itachi back to the village, away from the chasm.

That was the first of many times that his father lied to him.

* * *

><p>Not long after the end of the war, his parents start fighting with each other, something they rarely did before. Itachi knows they think they're being discrete, but he can hear their hushed insults and snarls behind their bedroom door, finds the remains of broken dishwear and empty pots of healing salve in the trash. He wonders, secretly, silently, if it's somehow his fault.<p>

He tries not to think too much about that possibility.

The clean-up of the war's carnage takes over a month; reconstruction of the village's wall and the buildings within over a year. Itachi observes the destruction being erased when he isn't playing with Sasuke. He sees much of the activity on the walks he takes daily to the library, picking large piles scrolls indiscriminately from the shelves rather than going to the librarian, who seems to have it in her head that he cannot recognize his characters yet. His mother comes every day around five in the afternoon to take him home, checking out the scrolls he hasn't finished without questioning him.

"Such a well-behaved and polite boy," the librarian praises.

"He's our pride and joy," his mother answers, beaming. "He's studying hard to be a great shinobi, aren't you, Itachi?"

Itachi nods, but it makes him feel nauseous. Him, a great shinobi. A glorious killer. He knows it's already written in stone that he will be that creature. His mother doesn't notice his unease as they walk back to the Uchiha Compound together, past the construction and new graveyard to the east. Itachi wonders if his mother even notices it, if all adults are so oblivious to things if it's not right in front of their eyes.

"I'm going to start making dinner. Why don't you play with Sasuke for a bit? He should be up from his nap soon."

Itachi nods and pads soundlessly to the nursery. It's in the best-lit part of the house and is probably also the most decorated and friendly room. Itachi likes the room; it suits his baby brother's generally sunny disposition. Sasuke is still asleep in the bassinette, eyes closed and breathing deep and evenly. For a moment, Itachi experiences a flash of jealousy; he hasn't slept well in months. But, as usual, the jealousy subsides, replaced by a sort of calmness that only Sasuke can awake in him, and Itachi simply stands over the bassinette, keeping a quiet vigil of his brother's breathing.

* * *

><p>They call him a genius. He wishes they wouldn't. He doesn't like the way people look at him, the gleam in his father's eyes, the too bright smiles all around.<p>

Shinobi arts come to him naturally, but that doesn't mean he doesn't practice. He practices in the time he has between Sasuke and reading not because he enjoys it (destruction: all he'll ever be good for), but because he doesn't have to associate with the children his father wants him to play with, to get to know better. He practices long and hard so he can kill the nightmares that come at night with black exhaustion, even if he can't block out the muffled arguments from his parents' room.

The one person besides Sasuke he does enjoy spending time with is Shisui. Shisui is patient with him, doesn't chatter about inane things like most of the other children, and can keep up with Itachi's training regime, at least most of the time.

"Ugh, I don't know why you read all of these things. I mean, even this girly stuff -"

"_The Plum in the Golden Vase _is a classic," Itachi answers, setting aside the scroll he's just finished and picking up the next in the series.

Shisui is quiet, much quieter than the other boy usually is, so Itachi takes a moment to look over. Shisui is holding the scroll Itachi had just rolled up and set aside, cheeks flushed as he stares at a particular passage. After a moment, Shisui scoots closer to Itachi, showing the passage and the pictures that accompany it.

"You know this is porn, right?"

Itachi blinks, looking over the passage and pictures again, before shrugging. "The story concerns the relationships between men and women. Sexual relations are usually very much a part of that."

Shisui gapes open-mouthed at him for a moment before leaning forward to examine Itachi, squinting. "How old are you, exactly?"

"You know how old I am."

"Well, you're more like an old man," Shisui declares, rolling the scroll up again but keeping a firm hold on it. "Can I borrow these as you finish them?"

"I thought you weren't interested."

Shisui just gives Itachi a disbelieving look before shaking his head. "Just let me borrow them. Please, cousin?"

Itachi nods once before turning his attention back to the new scroll, letting the story swallow him and gazing into the fictional lives both more complicated and much simplier than his own.

* * *

><p>A few nights before he starts Academy, he comes home from having dinner at Shisui's house to his parents fighting.<p>

He stands for a while in the hallway outside his parents' door, listening to the uneven pounding inside, the shouted words and curses, the occasional sound of something breaking, all muffled by a hastily errected silencing technique. Itachi swallows, closes his eyes, feeling strangely disconnected again, in that way he's started to experience on and off since those hours along on the rotting battlefield.

The sound of Sasuke crying brings him out of it, that horrible empty place. He pulls himself away from the door to his parents' bedroom and walks silently down the hall to the nursery, sliding the door open and sliding it shut behind him. Sasuke is sitting up in the crib and stops wailing when he notices Itachi directly in front of him, eyes surprised as he hadn't heard his brother approach. Itachi reaches down and picks his brother up, clutching the boy to his chest and letting Sasuke hide against the collar of Itachi's shirt.

Itachi stands, humming and rocking his body back and forth to keep Sasuke from crying out again. He doesn't know what their parents are fighting about (it never is very clear), but Sasuke doesn't need to hear them. Itachi surpresses a shiver, knowing it would disturb the calm he's aritifically created, instead closing his own eyes, focusing on his brother's heartbeat against his own and blocking the sounds of fighting and screaming down the hall out.

He breathes in, breathes with his brother, and makes the signs for silence over his brother's head.

It's the first time that he uses genjutsu on his little brother.


	2. Academy Days

**The Illusionist**

1

_Academy Days_

The Ninja Academy is a mess.

Physically, it's perfect, especially for a ninja academy. The grounds are clean, the classrooms are swept daily, and the trees around it healthy and strong even as beaten as they are from the abuse of children climbing them and practicing weaponry. The blackboards are neat and the chalk well-stocked. On the surface, everything looks just fine.

Itachi knows, though, that it's not. His class is small, far too small for an entering class of a village Konoha's size, and the other classes aren't much better. They have only two instructors, both new to teaching, and they're both jumpy, damaged by the war but functional enough to be shoved at children. Most of the children have no idea what they're doing, giggling and running about, completely undisciplined, their behavior just as chaotic as their home lives. Most of them don't seem to really understand why they're at the academy, seeing it as another opportunity to pick fights and goof off.

Itachi is the only child in his year who can answer any of the pre-test questions given on the first day; he answers all of them, but that's almost a moot point. He doesn't take any pride in this, but the sensei in charge openly praises him, earning him glares and resentment. His peers sneer and plot, and, by the end of the day, Itachi finds himself ostracized and alone. He doesn't let the disappointment show on his face, but it's there, despite the fact he knew it would most likely end up this way.

His father's words from that morning trickle into his mind's ear, like some sort of worm, an infection waiting to take root:

_You will never have friends, only allies._

Itachi bites down on the sadness, on the _but what if_, and pushes on. Wishes never did anyone any good; action was the way of the ninja world after all.

* * *

><p>They advance him to the next class by the end of the week. His father is utterly thrilled, and his mother makes a feast and throws a party to celebrate. There's music and guests, all there to look at him and smile and make noise.<p>

"You're going to be a shinobi for sure! A great one, at that!" one of his cousins he doesn't know very well exclaims, clapping him on the shoulder.

Itachi nods, and demures, and spends more energy than he ever has training trying his best to keep smiling. The music is blaring, and there's so much laughter, but none of it really means anything; none of it is really honest.

_A shinobi lives a life of deception, of illusion, of lies. Accept this, and you will go far._

He avoids breakfast and lunch with family, spending it with studies and Sasuke instead, and eats the leftover dango from the feast after spending the early afternoon on this Saturday training. Sweets are the only things that taste like anything, really, the red bean paste gentle against his often upset stomach. He knows he spends an inordinate amount of time stressed, that, in the end, it will not be good for his health. Shinobi don't live very long, and great shinobi even less, so he can't say he wants to changes it, even if he knew how.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat as much dango as you are right now," Shisui comments, somewhere between fascination and a grimace.

"It tastes good," Itachi answers, unwrapping the last of the dango and taking a bite from the first of the three pieces on the stick.

"Well, I figured," Shisui rolls his eyes, swing knobby-kneed legs in the air; they're on the last viable branch for their combined weight at the top of a tree. "Auntie makes great food."

There's no flattery in Shisui's tone, just simple fact. It's not that Shisui is _simple_, far from it; he's a genius in his own right. It's more that Shisui doesn't feel the need for or hasn't developed a taste for pretty words. He'd call such turns of phrase _girly_, although never in front of actual girls, around whom Shisui tends to calm up and blush. It's two of the qualities that Itachi likes about Shisui: he's honest, and he's funny.

"Do you not like meat?"

Itachi blinks, swallows the last of the dango. "Hm?"

Shisui is looking at him, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. "I've never seen you eat it. Even when we're with the adults."

"It upsets my stomach."

That's not a lie. It really does make him feel queasy. His parents have accepted it as perhaps an allergy, but Itachi suspects it's really all in his head. His father will never allow him to see a doctor unless it's obviously a medicial necessity. Shisui probably knows this from the slow blink Itachi receives, but he doesn't press it.

"You should become a monk," his cousin teases instead, grinning lopsidedly; "They're normally vegetarian."

Itachi almost says he'd like that, to be a monk. Not just because of the diet, but because it sounded peaceful. Quiet. Intellectual. Safe. It would be so nice to just hang it all up, put away the kunai and the jutsu and just...

"I'm to be a shinobi. A great one, at that," Itachi answers, doesn't allow himself to sigh but allows himself a bitter smile. "I would be a terrible monk."

Such thoughts were selfish, and monks-good monks-cannot be selfish.

* * *

><p>His weakness, he knows, is taijutsu.<p>

It's not a weakness in the way most other children's weaknesses are. Itachi is anything but incompetant in taijutsu, and he's more than able to keep up with Shisui, who is already a genin, and he keeps his ground well with his mother, who, while out of practice, was once a jōnin.

It's a weakness because he's afraid of it. Itachi doesn't like touching people. He knows his touch is meant to hurt them. Maybe not now, but one day that'll be the entire purpose of his touch: to mark, to wound, to kill. Taijutsu, Itachi suspects, will always be his weak point because of this.

There is a certain beauty, though, even in taijutsu's inherent brutality. His father and Shisui and the Academy instructors don't have it, but his mother does. There's grace in her movements, and, when he's with her and when he trains alone, he tries to imitate it. The way when she punches her hand only hardens into a tight first at the last second, giving extra force to the movement. The way when she spins with a kick it's more like watching a fan, the skirt flourishing and following the movement, a distraction to the enemy rather than a physical hinderance. Itachi wants that beauty, at least to ease the dislike he has for taijutsu.

"Never underestimate an opponent because of their looks," his mother tells him after a purely taijutsu spar. "There is never room to make mistakes, not in a real battle."

"Because you die," Itachi answers.

His mother blinks, gives him a strange look that happens more and more these days, especially from adults. "Well, yes, that's the worst outcome."

He almost opens his mouth to say _no, it's not_. There's much worse. He's read about those kinds of things in the scrolls, and he's seen it, sometimes, in the eyes of other ninja. _Living_ with death is the real curse, a memory, a haunting. Itachi doesn't believe in ghosts, although he does believe in spirits; there is always something leftover of a person, of a moment, even it's only a memory.

Mikoto shifts after the silence begins to stretch, and it takes Itachi a moment to realize that he's messed up. She's watching him now, not entirely motherly, more like how he's starting to be watched by the Academy instructors: clinically, calculatingly. He knows that it's a kind of game, that it's an intimidation tactic. When the other children notice stares like this, they become clumsy, hindered. Itachi knows they're waiting for him to slip up, to show he's something else besides what is expected of him.

They're all waiting to destroy his only defense. Being what they expect him to bed is the only way he can maintain some semblance of freedom. The moment they know what makes him tick is the moment that they can control him, the moment they can swoop in and break him down and put him back together how they want him to be. Itachi knows what they want; it's obvious: they want a perfect soldier; they want a perfect son. So, he'll play to that, play the role beautifully and perfectly, if only to keep a little bit of himself for himself.

(And he knows it won't last forever, that one day it'll all fall apart, but that's alright: shinobi don't live very long, after all.)

* * *

><p>The first time he meets Hatake Kakashi is two paces into the shadows cast by the front gate of the Uchiha Compound.<p>

He's been aware that Kakashi always shows up on Thursdays at this time, always stands there like he wants to go in but never does. Itachi is aware, also, of what happened with Obito, and he's noticed how sometimes Kakashi will just stand there, staring at the gate but not really seeing it, the same way Itachi's father watches birds sometimes: like there's something else beyond the physical there.

"Hatake-san."

A beat. Kakashi doesn't start, but it takes just enough time to indicate surprise before Kakashi is looking straight at him. Only one eye, although Itachi knows the hidden one probably sees him, too. Part of Itachi wonders what that must be like, to see two worlds at the same time. The other part, the part that's proper to show to the world, is wary.

"Do you have business with someone here?"

Slow blink of the visible eye, the only indication of discomfort. "A healing appointment in thirty-three minutes."

Itachi inclines his head just enough. He knows the clan is angry with Kakashi (and, maybe, more poisonously, with Obito), although he doesn't know all the details. Obito had gotten a quiet funeral, a small ceremonial mark, the entire affair swept as quickly under the tatami mats as possible. Still, they aren't about to deny the survival of a Sharingan, even if it is in the head of someone outside of the clan. They will never tell Kakashi the secrets, of course. Itachi expects Kakashi has guessed the boundaries.

"Itachi, back from Academy already?"

He turns his outward attention to the elderly lady passing by the entrance, coming from the direction of the market. Instinctively, he inclines his head in greeting, keeping his main focus on Kakashi, how he moves back into the shadows. Kakashi doesn't want anyone to now he's here; that much is obvious.

"Yes, Asuka-san."

The old woman chuckles, leaning on her cane as she gazes fondly at him. "Whatever are you waiting out there for? Your mother must be waiting for you with a nice snack."

"Thank you, Asuka-san," Itachi murmurs, inclining his head and smiling. "I was just thinking about that."

He hears her chuckle and begin her way past the entrance, mind already on other things. He takes a moment to glance back into the shadows, watching Kakashi watching him, before he looks forward again and moves inside.

* * *

><p>"Cousin?"<p>

Itachi makes a sound of acknowledgement.

"You're going to develop diabetes."

Itachi hums and takes another bite of the pudding, gazing out over the training field.

"Seriously," Shisui pushes, frowning mock-heavily. "Do you even eat the other stuff your mother packs you?"

He swallows before answering. "You eat it."

"And you steal _my _dessert!" Shisui exclaims, kicking his heel against the bench leg.

"You make good pudding."

"Too bad _I _never get to eat it," Shisui moans, watching Itachi forlornly devour the contents of the disposable cup.

Itachi twists the spoon in the opaque dessert, lifts the scoop to his mouth, places it on his tongue. Sweet and gentle: two things he isn't.

"Itachi."

He blinks, looking up and fully to Shisui, whose expression, like his voice, is suddenly drawn. A moment passes before Shisui continues.

"We're probably both going to graduate in the spring, aren't we?"

There's no jealous in Shisui's voice, which surprises Itachi despite himself. Most of the other children in the Academy are open in their jealousy of him, attempting to play crude, thoughtless tricks during the spars or in class. Itachi knows it's best to just ignore this sort of behavior, that it will be something he'll always have to deal with into the far future. Shisui, however, just sounds sad, almost regretful.

"Most likely."

"Do you think we'll be on the same genin team?"

Itachi shakes his head. "No. Two Uchiha are unnecessary for a genin team, especially once we awaken our sharingan."

Which, they both know, will probably be sooner rather than later. They'll most likely be the main clout on their teams and therefore exposed to more danger or at least expectations. Obito had been a special case; Kakashi had been the one to take the brunt of most fights. Now that he's actively paying attention, Itachi gets the impression from the way he hears people talk it's one of the many reasons the Uchiha adults dislike Kakashi.

Shisui twists a blade of grass in his fingers, knotting it absentmindedly, unusually pensive. "Do you want to be a shinobi, Itachi?"

He makes a mistake, his hand twitching on the sweating pudding cup. Shisui doesn't point it out, but Itachi knows his cousin notices. Shisui is probably the smartest of the children in the clan behind Itachi.

"It is my duty as heir," Itachi answers instead, knowing he can't straight out lie now.

The silence stretches out long between them. It's not tense, just heavy. The mid-day sun shifts behind a thin cloud cover and comes out again, but Itachi feels as if time itself has no meaning right now. He wonders if it ever did.

"Hey, Itachi?"

"Hm?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Itachi inclines his head, turning fully to Shisui again, hands still holding the pudding cup a bit too close to his chest.

"I wish..." Shisui whispers, drawing his knees up against his chest, a strangely childish position for them both. "I wish I could have been a chef..."

Itachi swallows, his hand holding the spoon spasming this time, the utensil falling into the grass around the bench. Tears prick at the edges of his eyes, half for Shisui, half for himself. Yes, he knows that feeling, that longing to be someone else, anyone else. To have different memories, to be normal and not a genius, to not _be_ -

"But we're the pride of the Uchiha," Shisui finishes, pulling a smile onto his face, visibly taking comfort from just saying the words. "That'll get us through."

He swallows again, breathing in deep. Shisui is still smiling, not really looking at him, and Itachi is grateful. Shisui is his best friend; maybe, at the heart of it, his only friend. Itachi reaches down to pick up the spoon, forcing his features back into place, nodding by the time he sits back up and smiling just enough, just the right amount to create this lie.

"Yes," he says, gently, "that'll get us through."


	3. Weather

**The Illusionist**

2

_Weather_

Sasuke is such a happy child.

Itachi knows that it irritates Fugaku, who always makes sure to have either Mikoto or Itachi around to buffer Sasuke's attention. Itachi grimaces inwardly as Fugaku and Mikoto chatter with guests at the party they've thrown Itachi for Academy graduation, Fugaku keeping far from Mikoto, who holds a happy, wide-eyed Sasuke in her arms to keep him from getting too much under foot. No one seems to notice how fragmented his family is.

Itachi knows, too, that he isn't helping. He's never been particularly close to either of his parents, but, in the past year, it's gotten worse, the underlying discomfort to all of their interactions. Perhaps in emotional defense to this, Itachi has been forcibly relabeling his parents by their names rather than familial titles in his head. Especially Fugaku. It's easier to call the man by his name rather than all the emotions (frustration, disappointment, loss) the title of father carries. He knows that, as with everything else, this says something about him, and it's not necessarily complimentary.

_You are a bad son_.

He hides the stab of the thought (not unbidden, just unwanted) by helping himself to a slice of cake.

* * *

><p>Itachi catches a cold the day after graduation from the Academy. He clamps down on the aching in his muscles, but he can't completely control the coughing for the entire time they wait for the jonin to arrive. His new teammates are a surly-looking boy of no clan connection but extensive chakra reserve and a sad-faced girl whose comes from a very long line of taijutsu and weapons specialists. It's an excellent team combination, and Itachi can guess that they'll become in demand for longer missions. Itachi coughs into his sleeve and tries not to think about it too much.<p>

"You're ill?"

It would figure their jonin-sensei would have perfect chakra control, completely masked from his position on the ceiling. The girl makes a squeaking sound, looking up abruptly at the man, and the boy momentarily fumbles with his control, causing a spike in that impressive chakra reserve; Itachi can't blame their surprise: it looks like their sensei is an Abarume, who are generally unnerving to look at on a normal level, let alone upside down. Itachi can only finish coughing and tuck the handkerchief back up his sleeve.

"It is a cold," Itachi murmurs. "The shift in weather usually heralds it."

Outside, even though it's late spring, it's storming. Itachi almost always has a cold when it storms like this; it reminds him of how it rained at the end of the war. He's pretty sure it's psychosomatic, which he fully intends to work on. The look on the jonin's face indicates he's following the same train of thought.

"Have you seen a medic?"

Instantly, the image of his father's disinterested face flashes through his mind, his mother's back to them as she prepares bento. "No," he answers in the same instant. "It'll pass."

The man looks at him in that peculiar way that Itachi knows means that the man is really seeing him, not just passively observing anymore. But he moves onto the assessment of the other two genin, presumably blinking slowly before frowning at them all with a look of sincere confusion, still upside down on the ceiling.

"So, who are you? I didn't read the assignment."

Itachi can't tell if the man is lying or not. He suspects that he is, but the statement has the effect of drawing out the other two genin from their shells. The boy looks somewhat panicked, and the girl openly glares, crossing her arms over her chest. Itachi coughs into his sleeve again to hide a sigh.

The girl shoots off first. "I'm Lok Wai."

"Danno Tomeo," the boy offers, much less confident.

"Uchiha Itachi," and he manages not to cough.

The jonin on the ceiling nods, dropping down onto the floor finally. Itachi consciously stops himself from looking impressed the jonin shows no signs of experiencing vertigo.

"I'm Abarume Sochiro," the man says, hands going into his pants pockets and posture slouching. "Since it's storming, we'll start training tomorrow, unless the weather doesn't let up. We'll meet back here at nine."

They're dismissed. Itachi rises with his new teammates, lets them walk ahead of him to the door. He's not sure what he intends to do for the rest of the day. Perhaps play with Sasuke for a bit. Maybe read. He doesn't know: he hadn't planned to have so much free time.

"Itachi."

He stops, turns around. Sochiro steps forward, closely examining him. He's a very tall man, and Itachi is very young and very short. But that's how the world always has looked: much too large for Itachi to fight against completely. The most he can do is try to make a little bit of a difference; it's the only way to change his fate.

"I'll take you to the medical center, if you like."

Itachi lets himself pause, considering it. A _yes or no_ question, deceptively simple like so many other things in life, but the outcomes are endless. He can see the possibilities of each answer action stretching out before him, blossoming into different pathways. It's always like that when he considers things, a thousand possible consequences for the same action. Shisui is the only person Itachi knows who can see at least half of the possibilities; not all, but at least half. He'd like to take the time to puzzle each option out, but, unfortunately, it's not like that. A shinobi must act quickly, decisively, to protect what they love the most.

_Which do you care about the most: your pride or other people's lives? Those other two kids: they're going to be depending on you, and you're seven and a thumb's length away from crazy. You're cracked, and you know it, and it's only a matter of time before you're coughing up brain matter and not just spittle and mucus. You're selfish, but are you _that_ selfish?_

Itachi nods minimally, swallowing a cough when he answers: "Thank you."

He takes Sochiro's offered hand, walking beside the man into the rain. They don't talk, just keep underneath Sochiro's umbrella, and Itachi watches the raindrops hitting puddles in the cracks and dents in the road, trying not to think of the definite consequence of his decision: Fugaku is going to be so angry. Itachi suspects Sochiro knows this outcome, too.

* * *

><p>It turns out he <em>is <em>sick.

"Bronchitis," the medic says, talking to Sochiro as Itachi coughs in the background. "He should be fine with some rest."

Sochiro waits for the medic to leave and for Itachi to pull himself out of the coughing fit before turning those covered eyes completely on him. Itachi breathes out slowly, making sure that he won't start coughing again if Sochiro wants to talk.

"I'll walk you home."

Itachi slides off the examination table, falling into step by Sochiro's side. He doesn't look up as they walk in silence, knowing that he wouldn't get any visual queues than he would if he was staring straight into the Abarume's face. It doesn't bother Itachi; he spends most of his life looking past or below people's expressions. There is little honesty in the Uchiha family.

"Itachi."

The compound's entrance looms ahead of them. Itachi looks up now at the face mostly hidden, yet, somehow, he feels like there's more emotion in this moment than he's felt from an adult in a long time.

"Do you want me to inform your parents?"

And Itachi knows, for the first time but surely not the last in front of Sochiro, his mask slips. He nearly laughs, feels his lips twitch and coughs on it, and he breaks eye contact. His voice is the same careful monotone as usual, but the rest of the mask is shattered: he's broken character and let himself show through.

"The doctor's note is sufficient. Thank you, Abarume-sensei."

"Sochiro," the man says, once more in the bland tone from the beginning of the day as they stop before the main house, larger than the rest and easy to spot. "We will keep your training light for the next week as recommended."

Which, Itachi knows, means he won't be training physically with his new genin team at all at least for the week's duration. Most likely, he'll sit off to the side and watch, and, at the very most, contribute to some sort of team building. Sochiro doesn't insult his intelligence by explaining this, and Itachi finds he deeply appreciates that. He nods and they say their good-byes before Itachi enters his own home.

It's quiet, even more so than usual. Itachi can guess with almost complete certainty that Fugaku is at work; an educated guess supposes that his mother has probably taken Sasuke with her to lunch and tea at a friend's or relative's house. He breathes in, coughs harshly for a few seconds, and then toes off his shoes in the foyer before going into the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and drains it before heading to his room, opening and closing the door before letting his body sag slowly to the floor.

He can't keep living like this. His health is already suffering, and it's only a matter of time until his mind follows suit.

* * *

><p>The rain passes in the new few days and, with it, Itachi's illness. They meet up for their first real training session as a genin team in one of the many training fields. Tomoe stares resolutely at the ground, Lok Wai twitches her left leg impatiently, and Itachi stares straight-forward. He suspects they make a really odd picture.<p>

"I've read your files now," Sochiro announces into the thick atmosphere, his usual unreadable demeanor in place; "You are all exceptional for your ages in your own areas, so _skill_ is not a problem.

"Lok Wai and Tomoe, you two have been acquainted since you started at the Academy. On the other hand, Itachi, you only met them a few days before you graduated. So -"

And, here, Sochiro sits down, as if it was perfectly normal to sit on very damp grass and dirt, and looking up at them -

"- We will play a word game."

Itachi blinks once, quickly, before he, too, sat down. Tomeo follows suit and, after grumbling about _getting my ass wet_, Lok Wai sits, too. Sochiro nods once and pulls out a deck of cards.

"The rules of this game is that you must say the first thing that comes to each of your minds when I show you these cards. That is the only rule. If you break that one rule, I will catch you; do not think you can hide the truth from me. There are no right answer, and there are no wrong answers. We'll go Lok Wai, Tomeo, Itachi. Ready?"

They nod and the game starts. Itachi spends it-aside from answering his cards-watching his teammates. Tomoe looks more than a little nervous, and he stumbles over his answers, obviously embarrassed by each of them, stressed that there isn't a right answer. Itachi remembers that Tomeo never liked to speak up in the class and was often bullied when the Academy instructors weren't watching by the other boys; despite this, Tomeo always forgave them. Tomeo is too kind and too cautious for his own good, but Itachi thinks that's why they'll be able to be friends; Itachi has no need for more harshness in his life.

Lok Wai, on the other hand, answers her words without hestitation. There's little to no shame about her, her speech is aggressive, but she isn't condemning. She doesn't sneer at Tomeo or Itachi's answers, just accepts them at face value. Itachi doesn't remember her too well from the Academy as she often was sleeping in class, but he can guess that she didn't get along with most of the other girls who liked to spend their time fawning over themselves and boys. She certainly never fawned over Itachi and never laughed at Tomeo, and Itachi thinks he can come to respect her as a teammate if not a kind of friend.

Itachi hopes against hope, against his father's words, that he will be a good friend.

* * *

><p>Even Sasuke's room, the warmest and best lit in the house, becomes cold and dark at night. It's the cold that Sasuke really fears, his whimpers often waking Itachi from his own sleep. Their parents sleep through the whimpering now, too used to it to respond or too tired of responding; Itachi isn't sure. There are things even a genius does not want to know.<p>

In the depths of nights like this, Itachi never speaks when he slips into his brother's room. He hugs his brother, combs his fingers through his brother's hair, and buys Sasuke's silence with the warmth of his own chakra. Sometimes, if Sasuke is really fussy, he puts a genjutsu on, makes him see their mother instead of Itachi himself. He knows it's not a proper use of his abilities, to falsify his own brother's experiences so early in life, but he also knows the consequences if Sasuke does wake their parents. It's never physical, of course, but there are other punishments worse than physical pain.

Itachi realizes that it must have been like this for him, too. He always understood loneliness when he read the story scrolls, even though it was often only explained esoterically. He doesn't feel angry about it, oddly; he knows that, if he ever told Shisui, anger would be expected. Shisui isn't him, though. Shisui...

Sasuke should have been Shisui's brother. It was only some cruel twist of fate (and fate is very cruel) that made Sasuke Itachi's brother. Itachi knows that Shisui's parents have tried and tried for more children, but it isn't possible, although whether due to one or both's impotency is unknown. It isn't Itachi's place to pry too deep into that, and he only knows about it because of the gossip at parties and Shisui's occasional slip of the tongue. It's that sort of gossip that's taught Itachi how cruel people can be, and Shisui's slips that have urged him to keep a disciplined tongue.

But Sasuke... Itachi sighs through his nose as he settles his brother back in the bedding, tucking the sleeping boy in. Sasuke doesn't deserve this. Itachi knows, logically, he doesn't either, but it's always the children who pay for the sins of their parents. He likes to think-in the rare moment that he can indulge in fantasy-he's doing the right thing. After all, Itachi is already a ninja, already an adult in this world. If he can shield his brother-even just a little bit-, then he'll have done something right in a life made of lies and deceit.

Just because he's a bad son, it doesn't mean he has to be a bad brother.

* * *

><p>It's obvious how their genin team will function: Lok Wai will be the most dependable for taijutsu, Tomeo for support and medical, and Itachi as the front man and-although no one says it aloud-the finisher.<p>

Even so, Itachi finds he enjoys training with his genin team. He trusts Sochiro, at least as much as he can trust an adult and superior, and Lok Wai and Tomeo are adept enough and each have endearing traits. Lok Wai might be rather overly aggressive, but she has a wicked sense of humor, and Tomeo, while he has low self-esteem, is sincere, kind, and utterly soothing to be around. The hours that he spends with them, training or on D-rank missions: it's as close to paradise Itachi has ever hoped to get.

"Itachi, you're smiling," Tomeo points out as Lok Wai flips off a stingy client whilst imitating the old man's duck-like waddle while Sochiro tries hopelessly to hide her. "I've never seen you do that."

Itachi keeps smiling, feels like he might explode, and just shrugs. Tomeo beams, his nervous face lighting up like the sun, and Itachi just smiles, smiles, and _smiles_.


End file.
